My Immortal
by GSRsara4eva1623
Summary: It felt as if she was in a bad dream, where everything happening around her was just so horrible that it could not possibly be real. GSR.


**Disclaimer:** While my team did take 3rd place (out of 40) at the CSI Challenge this year (and won best crime scene processing and best case presentation), the prize was definitely not the rights to CSI. And I don't own the song either.

**A/N: **I haven't posted in a while but I've been writing again late at night which will hopefully continue since its summer and then maybe I'll have some more stories for you guys. I missed fanfic. Anyway, this story contains spoilers through this past season, probably from the most recent two but don't hold me to that. Please read and review :)

Oh, and this is a character death. Sorry I tend to kill people. Carry on.

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_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

~ My Immortal by Evanescence

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_There was a dense air of melancholy that had settled in the room, though it was a funeral home and such a feeling had probably existed since the day it opened. Funeral home visits weren't ever happy occassions. The large viewing room was full of flower arrangements and people dressed in black or police uniforms, with soft chatter flowing throughout. It hurt when she heard people towards the back of the room chuckling. What they found so funny she did not know. This was her husband's funeral, laughing should have been prohibited. She sat quietly on the /overstuffed and under comfy couch, accepting condolences and hugs when necessary but not venturing far from where her husband lay. Someone was always with her, whether it be Catherine, Nick, Greg or Jim and her tears were constant, still flowing from her break down fifteen minutes before the wake was actually scheduled to begin. It was her husband's funeral and tears would be expected. Greg observantly made sure to keep restocking the tissues beside her._

Sara woke slowly, opening her eyes to a room painted in all hues of blue with landscape paintings in place of framed butterflies. This was definitely not a room in their townhouse. She struggled to toss back the thick blankets that had twisted around her body during the nightmare, practically strangling her, and pushed herself cautiously to her feet, wary of her surroundings. There was nothing outwardly displayed in the room to hint at her location so she stepped quietly to the door, her bare feet cold on the wood floor. It opened with a high screech and she knew her cover was blown when the constant tap tap tap of high heels on hardwood that she had woken up to stopped as if to listen for her movements. And then Catherine stepped into view at the other end of the hallway, her attire a black knee length skirt, black blouse and deep purple scarf that matched her three inch heels. Maybe she was still asleep and this was just the second half of her nightmare. Yes that had to be it.

"Good morning," Catherine said with obvious fake cheer which Sara had known her long enough to recognize. "I was just coming to wake you. We have to leave for the funeral home in an hour."

Catherine's words made Sara feel like someone had stabbed her in the stomach and twisted the knife. Everything in her nightmare came rushing back, including all of the gut-wrenching emotion that threatened to bring her to her knees. It was almost impossible to determine which parts of her nightmare were now her reality. It hadn't been some dream created by her subconscious for entertainment during sleep. This was real life. She clutched the doorjamb when lighted headedness threatened to bring her to the floor. Catherine rushed over; her heels again click click clicking. She pulled the younger woman into her arms to keep her upright.

"You need to eat something," Catherine said, leading her to the spacious kitchen. Sara had to dig in her memory to remember vaguely refusing food a few times throughout the horrendous day before. But that did not stop Sara from responding "I'm not hungry", following Catherine into the kitchen anyway.

"I don't care," Catherine said. "I'm not letting you pass out on me. Grissom would never forgive me."

Clearly it was too soon to say something like that as Sara's eyes suddenly turned glassy and she violently pulled away from Catherine's grasp before collapsing in on herself on the tile floor. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. She would not cry. Not again. She would not cry she would not cry she would not cry...Catherine's hand fell on her shoulder and Sara was slightly surprised that Catherine had knelt down next to her seemingly unworried about wrinkling her mourning outfit.

"I'm sorry," Catherine murmured, rocking Sara like she would Lindsey when she'd scrape her knee at the playground. After Sara felt she had recomposed herself with a few shaky breaths, she pulled away from Catherine's arms. The last thing she wanted was for people to think she was unable to control her own emotions. With a sigh, she lifted her head from her knees and said "I'm okay", though her chin quivered. Catherine took her hand and helped Sara to her feet.

"Why don't you go shower while I set out breakfast, alright? Your clothes are hanging on the back of the door to the guest bathroom," Catherine said, her voice soft and full of sympathy. Sara nodded numbly and Catherine paused to watch her move treacherously back down the hallway.

On the back of the bathroom door hung an outfit Sara could not remember picking out, whether in her dream or real life. It was a black dress with a black lace flower overlay that she guessed would fall just below her knees. The dress had spaghetti straps and was accompanied by a black wrap to place over her shoulders. A pair of black stockings was rolled up and placed over her black flats on the counter beside the sink.

She felt heavy and drained and it would be too much work to struggle through her knotted curls in the shower. Sara simply stood under the spray, trying not to focus on where she would be going that day. The scorching hot water left amorphous red, blotchy shapes on her skin. She was out in less than five minutes, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. She tugged a brush through her frizzy hair and attempted to style it back with bobby pins before deciding her hair was the least of her problems. She found her makeup bag already set out on the counter and dug through it for the darkest black eye makeup she had. If her mood was dark, her face might as well look it too. After painting her eyes with a collection of grey and black eye shadows, she tugged on the stockings, stepped into her dress, tucked her feet into her flats, and took the wrap off the hanger and out with her to the kitchen.

Catherine had bagels and fruit spread out on the breakfast bar and when Sara stepped slowly in she was spreading low fat cream cheese on the whole wheat bagel in front of her.

"You look better," Catherine said, lifting her head at Sara's entrance. And it wasn't a complete lie. Her appearance had improved drastically compared to the day before, though they still had a long day ahead of them and things could change.

The dress and wrap Sara wore belonged to Catherine but the stockings and flats were the same ones Sara had worn the day before. Sara placed the wrap on the back of a chair near her pocketbook before stepping up onto a barstool seat at the counter. She grabbed a plain bagel from the center plate and tore it in half. The light from the hanging lamps over the breakfast bar glinted off her simple gold wedding band. Grissom had placed it on her hand only nine months before. And in those nine months they had spent more time apart than together. He had been in Paris and she in Vegas with the promise that once their grant came through she would drop everything and return to France. Of those nine months, she knew they had only spent roughly 8 weeks together. With her heart aching to see her husband, she had purchased plane tickets to Paris for next Monday. Sara wondered briefly about having to call the airline and seeing if she could get a refund for her roundtrip ticket...

He had died in Paris without her there. Even if she had been phoned right away (which didn't happened because her desert crime scene was not fit for good reception), she would not have been able to get to Paris in time. She would not have made it for the five hours between when he was hit by the car, never regaining consciousness, and when he died in a French hospital. This wasn't fair. She never even had a chance at getting to him. Sara hadn't even found out about the accident until his body had been cold for two hours. She'd been an absolute wreck after receiving the devastating phone call. So much so that the gang had refused to let her fly back to Paris, instead making the arrangements for his body to be flown back to Vegas. She jumped when she felt something brush against her hand, startled from her thoughts.

"Sara, I called you like three times just now," Catherine said. Just shaking her head, Sara looked down, confused by the pieces of bagel in her hands and the even smaller pieces that had been shredded and deposited all over her plate by her fingers while she had been lost in thought. "We need to leave in fifteen minutes. Please eat," Catherine urged, gripping Sara's hand. Sara glanced down at the pieces of bagel again and felt her stomach flip several times.

"I can't," she said, pushing the plate away and looking up at Catherine pleadingly. With an understanding sigh, the older woman nodded.

"We're meeting with the gang and whoever else wants to come to lunch after..." she trailed off as a look of grief passed over the brunette's features. Catherine twisted her wrist to check her thin-banded watch, and then with a flick of her straightened strawberry-blonde hair, "Come on. I think I heard Lindsey pull up." Her daughter had come back from UNLV for the funeral but Lindsey had been unable to attend the wake the day before because of her inconvenient final exam schedule.

Sara carelessly tossed the silk wrap over her shoulders and grabbing her small black purse, followed Catherine out the front door. Lindsey was standing against her silver Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway looking more than a little teary eyed. When she saw Sara she pushed herself off the passenger door and wrapped her arms around her pseudo-aunt.

"I'm so sorry," Lindsey murmured over the loss of her Uncle Gil. Sara just returned her hug, finding it easier not to say anything. After pulling away, Lindsey passed her mother her car keys and then climbed into the back seat after opening the front passenger door for Sara.

When they arrived at the funeral home, they were, unsurprisingly, not the first ones there. Nick, Greg, Brass, and Al Robbins were already present. Nick was the first one to see Sara enter the room and he excused himself from the group's conversation to go over to her. Brass, Greg, and Robbins turned in their direction in time to see Nick pull Sara against his chest. Her arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders and she hid her face against his neck. She would not cry she would not cry she would not cry...but a strangled sob escaped her throat and Nick pulled back slightly.

"Now darlin' don't start crying, you're gonna stain my suit," he whispered lightheartedly. The corner of her mouth lifted for a second, before she swiped at her tear stung eyes just in case one had managed to spill over. Greg was next to pull her into a hug. He was wearing his only court suit and the fabric was rough and scratchy against her cheek but she held onto him the longest.

Loosening his arms from her slim frame, he asked, "How are you feeling?" Sara just shrugged and let her arms fall back to her sides. Al Robbins squeezed her hands and placed a light kiss to her cheek, informing her that Mrs. Robbins would be there in time for the mass. Brass was next to draw her attention by taking her hand and tugging lightly.

"Do you want to go up with me?" Jim asked, tilting his head towards the coffin at the front of the viewing room. She nodded almost imperceptibly even as she relived yesterday's events after they'd already been replayed in her dream.

By the time they got up to the casket, she had become dizzy with emotion from her memories. The room became silent and Sara could feel everyone's eyes on her as she and Brass knelt on the cushioned wood before the coffin. Her eyes took in his body, positioned exactly the way it had been yesterday. She had picked out his dark blue suit along with the baby blue tie that brought out the color in his eyes, not that it mattered because his eyes wouldn't be opening anytime soon. It wasn't her favorite suit of his, which was why it had been left at the townhouse during their time in Paris, but she, perhaps selfishly, didn't want him buried in the suit that was her favorite, the one he often wore when they went out to fancy restaurants. She felt her throat beginning to close from the effort it took to force back her tears. His wedding ring adorned his finger and his mother's rosary was wrapped delicately around his folded hands, but Catherine had made sure both would be removed before burial and returned to his wife.

Sara turned her gaze to his expressionless face which had been covered in makeup to hide the marks of the accident. She lovingly brushed the back of her hand along his beard. The short hair was scratchy and she remembered the feel of it when she caressed his cheek, when he nuzzled her neck, when he laid his head on her bare stomach in bed, or the roughness of it on her thighs... She wiped quickly at her eyes that prickled with tears and hung her head in silent prayer that she would be with him again someday.

She felt Jim's arm fall around her shoulders, hugging her against his side. On any normal day she would've hated all the touchiness but she was afraid that without it she would completely fall apart. It was worse enough that her heart was already shattered, the jagged pieces cutting her from the inside out. Only partially aware of her inner turmoil, Jim helped her to her feet and over to the rows of chairs that had probably not been moved since last night. He sat beside Sara on the small stiff couch in the middle of the front row, directly in line with the coffin. After a few minutes of staring at the wooden box holding her dead husband, she squeezed her trembling hands into fists and shot to her feet.

"I can't do this," she said, pausing for only a second before dashing from the viewing room with the urge to vomit.

She rushed past her friends and down the steps in the hallway, ending up in the women's room connected to the lounge. She yanked the wrap from her shoulders letting it drop to the floor and held back her hair as she retched above the toilet. There was nothing in her stomach and all that passed her lips was a clear liquid. The dry heaves hurt her chest and when nothing came up she fell against the wall in a coughing fit. Grissom wasn't there to hold back her hair, or rub her back, or hold a cold cloth to her forehead. She was all alone. Why did this have to be so hard?

She heard the restroom door open and knew a knock on her stall's door was coming before the sound even reached her ears.

"Sara?" It was Nick's voice.

"I'm fine," she called, her voice cracking. "Give me a minute," she said, though barely loud enough for him to hear.

She was still sitting on the bathroom floor with her knees bent, taking deep breaths to calm down. When she was satisfied that her stomach wouldn't revolt again, Sara pushed herself to her feet and stepped out of the stall. Nick was there offering her a bottle of water.

"Thanks."

She rinsed her mouth a few times at the sink and then took a few sips of the water. When she turned to Nick, her eyes were red and shined with tears. He placed the wrap over her shoulders and then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

"I miss him so much Nicky," she cried.

"I know you do Sar'. And he loved you so much. I never saw either of you as happy as when you were together," Nick said, his hands rubbing circles along her back.

"I wish I had died with him," she whispered.

"Don't you ever say that," Nick scolded, holding her tighter, but she continued as if he had not spoken at all.

"...You know before I even got that phone call I knew something was wrong, I could feel it. I tried to call him but my phone didn't have service at my scene so I told myself I would talk to him after shift, ya know? Convinced myself it was all in my head and then..." She didn't continue, letting him fill in the blanks himself. "He was the best thing in my life, Nicky. I finally had a family, with him and now it's just gone. Poof."

"Hey now, you have all of us. We're not going to leave you," he said, trying to be reassuring, and hugged her closer.

When they got to the top of the basement lounge steps, everyone was lingering in the hallway and viewing room with quiet conversations. Wendy, Hodges, Archie, Mandy, Ecklie, Judy, Vartann and others from the lab and the police department had arrived. The funeral director had announced they would be leaving for the church within the next twenty minutes and people were slowly retrieving their coats. When the last person exited the large room where his coffin was on display, Sara slipped back inside unnoticed for one last moment alone with her husband.

She approached the coffin slowly, engulfed by the heavy scent of floral arrangements. To the right of the flowers was a gold pole with creepy hand clips overflowing with Mass cards. There had been so many that another holder was brought in. It weighed on her mind for a moment that she would have to write thank-you notes for the cards and flowers and pretend to be okay. Catherine was better with words and people; maybe she would have to ask her for help. Sara reached the coffin and her hands gripped the edge of the dark wood until her fingers ached.

His body lay there motionless, colorless, and lifeless despite the mortician's attempts to make him appear asleep. It didn't matter; they all knew he was dead. He didn't look much different than the bodies she processed daily. She had been to other funerals during her time as a CSI but now she wasn't sure if she could gather evidence from another body without seeing him lying there on the steel table in the chilled morgue. Her breaths were shaky and rapid, had her hands not been wrapped around the wood they would have been trembling. She relaxed her right hand and trailed the tips of her fingers through his grey hair. She ached for his caresses, the soft ways his hands would touch her, cherish her. His touch always made her feel safe and brought immense comfort, a feeling she craved at the moment.

She never understood people's need to talk to a dead loved one's body or to kiss their forehead in parting, after all if being a CSI had taught her anything, it was that a body was only the shell of a person, a temporary home until their soul would leave. But even with this knowledge, she didn't want to step away, didn't want to stop running her hands along his face.

"I love you, Gil. With all my heart," she sniffled and stepped away a moment to snatch a tissue from a side table.

She stopped trying to fight back the tears and just let them fall, tickling her cheeks as gravity pulled the droplets to the floor. Sara didn't know what else to say but she didn't feel pressured to say the words now. Whether she spoke her thoughts to his body or an empty house either way he was dead. He wasn't there and he wasn't coming back. She lifted a trembling hand, pressing her lips to the tips of her index and middle finger. Gently she touched her fingers to his dry lips, and with a choked sob she whispered "Goodbye".

She walked away and didn't look back. Greg slung his arm around her shoulder when she stepped into the vast hallway. They were the last two inside, alone with the funeral director. "We'll have the items you requested here to be picked up," she said.

"Could I uh," she gulped back tears. "Can I have his wedding ring now? Please?"

"Sure," the woman nodded, her hands folded. She returned quickly, placing the ring in Sara's palm. Before stepping back, the woman grasped Sara's hand. "I'm truly sorry for your loss." Sara nodded and then the funeral director disappeared behind the shudder like doors of the viewing room again.

Sara studied the thin gold band for a moment that was the twin of hers. With trembling hands she slid the ring onto her left hand, touching it to her own. She studied the matching bands a moment before lifting her head when Greg started to speak.

"We're taking Nick's car," Greg said. "He already pulled around into the procession." She nodded numbly, guided out into the Vegas sunshine by his arm on her shoulders.

The harsh white light of morning hurt her eyes, pushing out more tears. All types of cars were lined up at the curb that wrapped around the funeral home, including police vehicles, all with their hazard lights flashing. Greg led her to Nick's black SUV that was positioned to be the first car in the procession. Nick, already in the driver's seat, was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel waiting for the hearse to pull out of the funeral home's parking lot. Greg pulled open the back door and took Sara's hand to help her step up into the car. He got in and sat directly beside her, his shoulder touching hers.

The hearse appeared and waited for the next red light to slowly pull onto the street, and then let the other cars fall into place. The rear window of the hearse kept the coffin partially hidden with drapery and then completely hidden by the various flower arrangements that had been collected from the viewing room and placed atop and alongside it. While Sara could not see the coffin from her seat in the car, the window and flowers were enough to make her hide her eyes in the collar of Greg's shirt. He glanced down to see the top of her head. He bent to kiss the crown of her head lightly and she clutched the lapel of his blazer.

The church was mostly a blur after following stiffly inside behind the coffin. It smelled the way an old church smells, like aged wood, dust, and candles. She studied the stained glass designs and the way the light passed through the colored sections from the front pew while waiting for the mass to begin. Lindsey went up to the podium twice to read off the selected passages from the Bible while Catherine and Brass went up separately to say a few words about their best friend. Her nose stung from the black smoke coming off whatever the priest was burning as he swung the metal pocket over the casket as he said a prayer. The mass was over and they all stood to follow the coffin out before she could get her bearings, everything was moving far too quickly.

This time Jim took her hand as they walked behind the coffin. She kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to avoid the pitying looks from others that had come for the service. The stuffiness she felt in the church was lifted as soon as she stepped outside, with the pressure on her lungs gone she felt like she could breathe again. The team formed a small circle outside the church, huddled together as they waited for the casket to be placed in the hearse. They were all silent. Catherine had started to cry during the mass and now Sara found herself studying the cement at her feet, afraid to look up at her friend because then her own tears would surely begin again.

She startled when the hearse's back door was slammed shut and Brass tightened his grip on her fingers.

"Want to ride with me?" Brass asked. Sara hated that they all believed she needed a babysitter, but she appreciated that they wanted to help her. She just hated that she _needed_ their help.

A short silent ride later, the cars filed into the cemetery and wrapped around a neatly landscaped circle of grass with a fresh pile of dirt and a hole in the middle among the headstones. People slowly made their way out of their cars, weaving through the cemetery plots until everyone was surrounding the roped off hole in the ground haphazardly covered with a blanket of fake grass. Suddenly chilled to the bone for no weather related reason, Sara pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. Nick moved to shrug off his suit jacket but Sara placed a hand on his forearm to stop him.

_Grissom used to do that. _She remembered her most recent trip to Paris. They had indulged in a night out. With the backdrop of a sunset, they went for a walk along the Eiffel Tower after dinner. It had been a fancy restaurant, meaning Grissom couldn't get away with just a collared shirt. It had been warm when they left their apartment and Sara had not bothered to grab a jacket to go with her thin dress. She had shivered as they gazed up at the dark sky, the stars shining brightly, and he had gingerly placed his jacket over her shoulders. She remembered slipping her arms into the sleeves and lifting her shoulders until her nose was buried in the collar. His cologne and a scent that was only his had engulfed her as if she was in his embrace. It was the most comforting thing next to his arms around her. The commotion of removing the coffin from the hearse startled her from the memory. Her shoulders slumped further at the sight and not for the first time that morning did she wish it was possible to go back and live in her memories.

The crowd of mourners grew silent as the funeral director came over with a basket of cut roses, red, yellow, pink, and white. She spoke of love and loss and being strong enough to continue in honor of the deceased, but Sara felt the words were hollow. She shivered and stopped listening as the woman began reciting a prayer. She was surrounded by all these people, some of them close friends and some simply present out of courtesy, but at that moment she couldn't have felt more alone. Flowers were passed out and everyone stepped up, placing each on top of the coffin. Sara waited until everyone had taken a few steps back, talking amongst themselves as they prepared to leave. She walked slowly to the roped off area and then leaned over carefully, placing the white rose among the others on the elegant wood. She rested her hand on the coffin, not wanting to break contact with her husband, but for as close as she was to his body she would never be any closer to him. That wouldn't keep her from stopping at the cemetery every day after work though, or from spending countless hours just staring at his headstone wishing she were with him.

Until one day, many years later, she was.

**Fin.**

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_And I hel__d your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have_

_All of me_

~ My Immortal by Evanescence

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**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this :) I decided to edit and post tonight as a distraction from thinking about my road test tomorrow morning. I figure this way if I fail my road test then I have your reviews to look forward to. So please review :)


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